


The Mohinder Suresh Affair

by Medie



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: reel_heroes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get the man who has everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt from [](http://community.livejournal.com/reel_heroes/profile)[**reel_heroes**](http://community.livejournal.com/reel_heroes/). Basically taking the Pierce Brosnan version of the Thomas Crown Affair and turning it into, well, The Mohinder Suresh Affair. I am _so_ not done, but it's due in a couple of days and I want to get this thing started.

"I want you to talk about men."

"I beg your pardon?" Suresh asked, raising an eyebrow. He steepled his fingers together, flexing them. "You want me to talk about men."

"Yes," the psychiatrist nodded, "I want you to talk about men."

"All right then, men it is," Suresh's mouth curved up. "They are a rather interesting lot. Some of them I find compelling, others distasteful, and there are countless more towards which I feel nothing at all."

The psychiatrist nodded. "All right then, since you're in a mood to play, Doctor, I'll rephrase."

"Please do," Suresh said. His tone was casual, bored. Not for the first time, the psychiatrist wondered why on earth the man bothered.

Other than the obvious enjoyment of listening to the sound of his own voice, of course. Mohinder Suresh was many things and through them all ran a strong streak of narcissism.

It served him well in the business community, but on the psychiatrist's couch it was a damned annoying trait.

"Let's talk about intimacy. Romantic partners. Can they trust you?"

"As much as one can trust anyone, I suppose." Suresh smiled.

"That's not an answer, Doctor Suresh," the psychiatrist said, his voice patient. "Please, if you aren't going to take this seriously -- "

"All right, all right," Suresh waved a hand. "They can trust me so long as their interests dovetail with my own."

Ah, the truth at last. "And the very moment they don't?"

Suresh smiled. "I do believe our time is up."

With a sigh, Dr. Noah Bennet took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. "That's supposed to be my line."

-

Mohinder smiled to himself, jogging down the front steps of the doctor's brownstone.

He did so enjoy a good sparring match. Quite good for the constitution his father had always said.

Somehow, he doubted his next one was quite what Chandra had meant. Not that it mattered. Mohinder liked to consider this a little adjustment for inflation. A jog thirty years ago versus grand larceny today.

-

"You know, Doctor Suresh, I can never figure you out."

Mohinder Suresh lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to see Ted Sprague standing behind him. It was less of a surprise, more of the daily routine. He smiled, sitting up straighter. "Well, that's a break from routine," he said. "These days, I'm used to hearing the opposite. Word to the wise, Ted, never hit it rich. It's the world's fastest way to become a boring, predictable businessman." He feigned a shudder. "Really."

Ted laughed. "Somehow, Doc, I don't think anyone would make the mistake of thinking you're boring and predictable. Saw that thing with Primatech paper not too long ago. Buying an entire paper company just to get your hands on a couple factories? Weird."

With a shrug, Mohinder turned back to the painting. "It seemed like an idea at the time," he said. "The CEO annoyed me."

"Then remind me to stay on your good side," Ted joked. "Nah, the thing I can't figure out is this." He moved up to stand beside the bench on which Mohinder was sitting. He gestured at the painting. "Every single day you come in here and you eat your lunch in front of the Mendez."

"I like it," Mohinder said. "Why?'

"Well, I mean, Mendez is a pretty talented guy, don't get me wrong. But the guy's a drug addict living downtown. He's not exactly in the same league as that guy," Ted jerked a thumb at the Monet. "He's not in the league of half the guys in this museum. I still don't know how the hell his agent got it in here."

"Perhaps she broke in," Mohinder suggested with a smile. "Snuck it up when they weren't looking."

Ted laughed. "Yeah, right, Mr. Suresh. Like anybody's going to be able to break in here. Never happen." He waved a hand. "I'm gonna head back to work. You enjoy your lunch and your painting."

"Have a good day, Ted," Mohinder said. He picked up the brown bag he'd brought in with him, opening it. His sandwich awaited him. He hummed to himself, unfolding the wax paper around it.

He looked up at a pretty blonde woman as she stopped to look at the Mendez. She smiled and he smiled back, then leaned over to push his briefcase beneath the bench. "Don't want you to trip," he said.

She grinned. "No, we don't," she said. "The ER isn't where I'd like to spend my afternoon."

Mohinder folded his sandwich again, rising. "No, no, that would be a terrible waste." He tipped his head. "Here's hoping your afternoon is nothing but pleasant."

She laughed. "And yours as well."

-

Getting out of the cab, Mohinder looked up at the gleaming buildings of Suresh Plaza. The gleaming spire at the heart of it all held the flagship company, the one he'd built upon moving to the United States on the sheer determination to prove to his father that he could make something of himself. He walked toward the building, caught up in the memory of the cold words his father had spat at him a decade before.

"Too cold, hmm, Dad?" he asked, taking in each and every building around the plaza. They all held subsidiaries of Suresh International and not a one of them had been purchased easily. He'd fought, scratched, and slugged his way through the negotiations on each. If his father had ever thought him too soft-hearted, Mohinder suspected that Chandra would barely recognize his son now.

He smiled. It was more a smile of regret than pleasure. "Pity. It would have been nice to show him about the place." The laboratories alone would have made his father's colleagues weep with envy.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he strolled into the building and into the elevator. He watched the doors slide shut absently, trying not to feel regret. The conversation with Bennet the evening prior ran through his mind again. His response troubled him, exactly as Bennet had likely hoped it would. The man was annoyingly perceptive about such matters. It was one of the reasons Mohinder kept threatening to cancel his appointments; and the chief reason that he didn't.

He knew what Bennet was driving at through his subtle questions. Mohinder wasn't a stranger to the fact he was a solitary man. He'd lived a life to himself for decades, from childhood really, and he'd grown accustomed to that. The idea of letting anyone else in was difficult and, to be honest, he wasn't sure that he wanted to.

Life as it was, was pretty damn good. He thought of his plans and glanced at his watch, smiling slowly. "By now, if all's going well," he said, "the horse should be in place."

It amused him to imagine the staff on the museum's loading dock. No doubt there had been a moment of panic when paperwork was compared and the discrepency discovered. He imagined they'd done more than a little scrambling about, trying to fix the problem before admitting to their higher ups that there was a problem.

"Just one little number changed here and there," Mohinder said. "I doubt they ever realized what a potential disaster their shipping practices are." He'd bought a company just last week that specialized in such kinds of transports. They could have worked such wonders on the matter.

He chuckled. Which, of course, they had. Leaving a very confused museum of art to wonder how a replica of the Trojan horse could possibly be mistaken for an Egyptian sarcophagus. "Poor things," he said. "If they only thought to look inside."

Of course, that had been Troy's problem in the first place. "Unfortunately, reading Santayana is not required for the museum business."

The elevator doors dinged, sliding open. Whistling to himself, Mohinder ambled out to face his assistant's grin.

Charlie tucked a red hair behind her ear, tilting her head. "Where's your briefcase?" she asked, with a smile. "Did you leave it at the restaurant again?"

"Nope," Mohinder held up the crumpled brown sack. "I brought mine today. Ate lunch at the museum." He smiled. "I must have forgotten to take it with me when I went."

He flashed back on sliding the briefcase beneath the bench, smiling wider as Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Course you did," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to guess that means you didn't get to review the contracts for those take over bids? The ones you said you were going to look at while you ate your lunch? You can't forget those, you know. Pharmaceutical companies don't just hostile take over themselves."

"Well, if they're particularly idiotic they do," Mohinder said. "Or, at least it feels as though they do. It is no small wonder that I've been so bored lately. The spark's gone out of it, Charlie. Not a single one of them's been so much as a hint of a challenge."

"Maybe not," she said. "But your shareholders are gonna be if you don't hurry up and get that cute little behind of yours to work." She shooed him toward his office. "Contracts, reading. Sign a few if possible. Go on, Doctor Suresh, make my day."

He laughed. "All right, all right, Charlie, I'm going!" He turned. "You do have a point and I solemnly swear that by the time I leave this building, I will have signed at least one of them. Possibly negotiated several more."

"Good," Charlie said, nodding. "I'll reschedule your suit fitting, it's not ready yet anyway. Something about fabric from Milan." She sniffed. "After that, you were supposed to meet with that Bob guy from Primatech -- "

Mohinder stopped in his doorway, turning back to look at her with undisguised annoyance. "Again?"

"He still thinks he can salvage the company," she said, nodding. "I got to listen to half his grand plans this afternoon on the phone." She rubbed her ear. "You're payin' for my medical bills. I think I got cauliflower ear. Besides, he didn't cry last time," she tsked. "You just like thinking that he did."

"Ah, yes, right," Mohinder looked disappointed. "I'll keep that meeting, perhaps he'll cry this time."

"You don't have to sound so hopeful about it," Charlie said. "You keep that up and I'm going to stop thinking you're such a sweetheart, Doctor Suresh."

"Mohinder," he corrected. "Please. Doctor Suresh is for someone who doesn't spend his days behind a desk pushing paper and watching the stock market." He leaned over, tapping her nose. "And I'm not a sweetheart. You just like to think that I am. It assuages your guilt at the exorbitant salary I pay you."

"Not that exorbitant," Charlie said. "I want a raise, or a bonus, or somethin'. Christmas is coming up, I've gotta move out of my apartment, and you wouldn't believe the prices in this city."

"I do live here," he said.

"I've seen your house, Mohinder," she smiled. "Nice try."

He chuckled. "All right, I'll speak to payroll. We'll work out something for you." He winked. "If you're going to keep on insisting that I'm such a sweetheart, I'll just have to pretend to be one."

"Oh, don't you be pulling that on me," she said. "You are and you know it." Charlie gave him a little push, nudging him into his office. "Now, be a peach and bring me signed contracts so I can get those executives of yours off my back. They're ruinin' my blouse."

-

Charlie got her contracts, her raise, and her bonus. Mohinder considered it money well spent. Before her, he'd gone through fifteen different assistants in just as many months. He'd become quite the joke among his friends on the matter, thought he'd remain one until Charlie had shown up.

He'd pay her a fortune to keep her around. It wasn't as if the money mattered anyway.

At precisely four-thirty five in the evening, Mohinder stepped inside the Museum of Art. At four-forty two he stopped outside the impressionist's wing and checked his watch. Standing there, he felt the warmth exuding from the corridor and smiled. It appeared that everything was on schedule. Excellent.

He picked up the briefcase he'd set down, feeling the reassuring extra weight of its titanium contents. It was unlikely that everything would go according to plan. In truth, he expected everything from hiccups to full on catastrophes, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his racing heartbeat.

Mohinder took a slow, deep, and measured breath. He reviewed the plan once more and then reviewed the contingencies just in case. Satisfied, he set off. Only a few steps and he was deep into the wing itself.

For most, the heat was likely nigh unbearable. Many of the people that he passed were muttering complaints about it as they fanned themselves, filing toward the exit. Mohinder, however, just smiled to himself and kept moving forward. Unlike them, all he experienced was a not-unexpected homesickness. The warm air against his skin felt like a warm afternoon in Chennai.

Quite comfortable, for him at least. A few more seemed intent on lingering, the heat not apparently an issue, but Mohinder quickly saw the burgundy uniforms of the museum's guards moving among them. None of the guards looked familiar which meant they weren't assigned to the wing.

Mohinder smiled, turning his head. Likely, none of them even worked for the museum. Good. They were here and they'd made it out of the horse. That was something. He hadn't recognized them at first, they looked different in the light of day, but that wasn't a surprise. The surveillance photographs hadn't done them justice. No matter, they wouldn't recognize him anyway. At least, not if it had all gone according to plan.

"Excuse me, sir," one of them said, approaching him. "The exhibit is closing, you'll have to leave."

"Closing?" he repeated. "Are you sure?" he made a show of looking at his watch. "It's only a quarter to five."

"Sorry," the man said, his response stilted. Mohinder resisted the urge to groan. They were doomed to failure, of course, but really.

"Might as well have hired mannequins," he said, muttering to himself.

"I did not catch that, sir?" the would-be thief said.

"You weren't intended to," Mohinder said. He adjusted his tie. "Listen, this exhibit really isn't supposed -- "

"But it is," the man insisted. "It is closing now." He paused. Mohinder wondered if he looked hard enough, would he be able to see the man's script playing in the empty space where his brain was supposed to be. "For cleaning."

"Ah, for cleaning," Mohinder said. "Right, well, can't argue with cleaning, now can I?" He smiled cheerfully. "Have a nice day then," he said, as he started down the corridor. "You just can't get good help these days."

At the corner, he turned, looking for Ted. By now the commotion in the Impressionists' wing had to have drawn attention from the higher ups. Ted was in charge of the section. He'd been working in the wing from day one, he'd take the intrusion as a personal matter.

"Yo, Doc!" Ted called out. He rushed down the hallway, pushing people aside. "What the hell's going on in here?"

"Precisely what I was about to ask you," Mohinder said. "I've been ousted!"

"What?" Ted asked.

"Ousted, thrown out, tossed out on my posterior," he said.

"Why?" Ted looked past him.

"Something about cleaning," Mohinder said, shrugging. "You hadn't mentioned anything -- " he didn't finish the sentence. Ted and the security men with him rushed past him and down the hallway.

With a smile, Mohinder sat down on the nearest bench, unfolding the newspaper he'd brought with himself. "T-minus ten and counting," he said to himself, giving the paper a brisk shake.


	2. Chapter 2

Intelligent man that he was, once tipped off, Ted leapt into action immediately. Mohinder didn't see the confrontation, but he could imagine how it went. He had scripted one half of it, after all, and thought he knew Ted well enough to work out the other half. He'd inquire as to what the men were doing, they would offer their excuses. The cleaning story wouldn't fly with Ted, he was in charge of the section, and therefore they'd fall back on their second story. The museum brass conducting a unscheduled, and private, tour for a group of industrialists wishing to take in the exhibit. It wasn't a particularly regular event, but it did happen.

Unfortunately, Ted wouldn't buy that one either. Even if they delivered the line perfectly, which they wouldn't, Ted wouldn't be fooled. The man prided himself on his work and there were enough subtle clues, Mohinder had seen to that, to allow him to figure it out.

If he wanted, Mohinder suspected he could count down the seconds to the inevitable confrontation and be almost exactly correct.

He turned his wrist, taking a glance at his watch. "It will likely be about – " pandemonium erupted and he looked up to watch a number of the thieves spill out into the hallway " - now."

The few visitors that hadn't been escorted out by the faux guards now scrambled backward, fleeing to the safety of the walls. They pressed themselves back, trying to avoid being drawn into the throng of burgundy jackets.

From behind the shelter of his paper, Mohinder allowed himself a chuckle. In his opinion, the plan that he had sketched out for them could have succeeded. It certainly was elegant enough to have done so. Yes, he'd designed it to fail, but that didn't mean that it had to. They could have taken some pride in their work and taken it a lot further. He'd designed it to fail, but he had given them some chance of success.

Watching them scrabble about the place like hoodlums, he turned up his nose in disgust.

"Really," he said, annoyed.

With great satisfaction, he put the final nail into their coffin and stuck out his foot. The 'leader' of the group promptly tripped over it and went sprawling to the wooden floor with a quite emphatic thump.

"I can't abide amateurs," he said, rising to his feet.

The thief glared at him and pushed himself to his knees. He threw a curse at Mohinder. Although he understood exactly what the man said, Mohinder gave him a blank look. "Sorry," he said. "Perhaps you might try another."

Thoroughly enraged now, the thief got to his feet and lurched forward with unsteady steps, favoring his knee. Mohinder kept his distance, idly contemplating the potential muscle groups the man might have strained in his fall. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the danger he was in, Mohinder was actually somewhat worried. The man before him had no way of knowing who he was. Worse, if he did. There was the chance that it might have become clear to him just what kind of job that he had been hired to do.

If he realized that he was a sacrificial lamb, Mohinder knew, he would be quite irritated. It would be terribly inconvenient to have his plan derailed by his murder.

He took a step backward, readying himself for a fight.

"Out of the way, Doc!" Ted yelled. He pushed Mohinder back and then whirled, striking a stinging blow with his baton. Connecting with the thief's already injured leg, the baton smacked into him with enough force to make him howl and Mohinder wince.

He almost felt sorry for the man.

Without missing a beat, Ted pushed the man to the floor and did as Mohinder had hoped. He leaned over the thief to slam the hilt of his baton into a small glass case, shattering it. The force of the blow depressed the button that the case had protected and all hell broke loose as the museum's security system activated.

Alarms began to blare, pounding in Mohinder's head, and massive gates began to descend over the doors.

The crowd that had been dispersing now reformed behind Ted, all craning their necks to watch the action. None of them noticed when Mohinder slipped through their ranks. He tossed one quick look behind him, confirming their diverted attention, and then shoved the titanium filled briefcase beneath one descending gate. _The_ gate.

For one heart-stopping moment, he thought that it might not hold and that the gate would smash on down. Then the moment passed, he breathed in, and watched the briefcase buckle, but hold.

Relieved, Mohinder dropped to the floor and pulled himself through. The thrill of triumph sent adrenaline surging through his veins, but he didn't allow himself a chance to celebrate. The hard part was over, but the hardest part of all was just beginning.

There was, after all, the matter of getting away with it.

-

Keeping one eye on the gate behind him, Mohinder crossed the gallery in a quick stride. He wasn't running, but there wasn't a moment to spare either. He reached the Monet and yanked it from the wall. In the same movement, he pulled the painting from its gilded frame and tossed the frame behind him.

Here, the thousand and one rehearsals conducted in his attic took hold. Mohinder's body remembered the training and went through the motions. Without thinking, he pulled the briefcase he'd left from beneath the bench and opened it. Carefully, he placed the painting inside and closed the case.

Accomplished, he adjusted his tie and strode back the way he'd come. The other briefcase still held the gate up, giving him just enough space to slide out again. He kept an eye on the crowd as he got up. There were more of them now, milling around and watching the guards round up the thieves.

Mohinder smiled and turned away. For all the derision that forensic psychology was subject to, he was forced to agree with it. At its heart, human behavior was decidedly predictable.

Turning his back on the crowd, he walked away.

-

At five o'clock precisely, he stopped on the museum's steps and looked back. He smiled.

-

Matt Parkman hated New York City. He loathed and despised it. With every single fiber of his being, he _hated_ it. Somewhere in the damned town was a thief and not just any thief. A thief who'd walked off with a hundred million dollar painting.

That was why Matt Parkman hated New York City.

Ordinarily, he would have loved it. Ordinarily, he _did_ love it. He would have loved the ten percent recovery commission even more. Even in his business, a ten million dollar payday was nothing to sneeze at. Any other day, he would've dropped to his knees and blown the guy so hard he'd see stars for a fucking year.

But Matt had just gotten off a flight direct from London, he was tired, he was cranky, and goddamn it he missed the fucking Concord. "A few crashes and they take it personal," he said, walking into the crime scene.

"Huh?" a beat cop said.

"Nevermind," he waved a hand. "Who's in charge of the investigation?"

The cop pointed. "Hawkins."

"Thanks," Matt said. He opened the bottle in his hands, downing half of it. Crossing the room, he looked down at the detective on his knees and grinned. "Hey man."

DL looked up, eyes going wide with surprise. "Son of a bitch, Matt?" He got up, grinning broadly. "Your company handling this?"

"Just my luck," Matt said, nodding.

"Since you look worse than shit, I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say they're breathing down your neck over this?" DL grinned.

"Calling it that'd be an understatement," Matt said. "The boys at Zurich Underwriters _really_ don't want to be cutting anybody a hundred million dollar check." He gave DL a knowing look. "Insurance companies."

"A thousand bucks or a hundred thousand bucks," DL nodded. "Tight asses to the end."

"Mostly," Matt said. "The commission on this one's going to be sweet."

"What's your percentage?" DL asked.

"Ten." Matt said, crouching down to examine the pile of paintings. He looked up at the skylight. "They were planning on moving these out by helicopter?"

"Yeah," DL joined him on the floor. "The helicopter diverted when the alarms started blaring. One of the guys inside must've warned them off, we've got people trying to track it down now."

"God, it's warm in here," Matt tugged at his collar.

"Air's down," DL said. "Usually it's an ice box in here."

Matt nodded. "Right." He stood up, circling the pile. "What do we know?"

"They shut off the air," DL said. "The museum's repairmen took a look, said the system for this wing is beat to hell." He pointed at the doors. "You're going to love this one, Matt, they got in through a Trojan horse."

Matt looked back. "_The_ Trojan horse?"

"Yep. Came in with it, cut their way out and then killed the air, before dressing up as guards. They came up here and started escorting the visitors out," DL said. "Their man on the roof rigged the skylight to blow and then waited to signal the chopper."

"Their plan being to put the paintings in the net then follow them up and out," Matt nodded. "We get a make on the chopper?"

DL consulted his notebook. "Sikorsky S-78."

"Are you sure?" Matt turned back from the pile. "S-78?"

"Yeah, why?"

"My memory's shit, but check the yield. If I remember it right, that helicopter can't carry anything more than 600 pounds." Matt frowned. "Which doesn't work. There's around a thousand pounds of paintings right here. No way that helicopter carries them and the men out of here."

"The fuck?" DL said. He looked back at his partner. "Double-check the chopper. Make sure we got the make right."

"You did," Matt said. "Hey, officer?" he called out to a beat cop. "Lemme see that." Pulling on a pair of gloves, he reached out to take the ruined suitcase. He hefted it in his hands and grinned. "Fuck, somebody's good and it isn't Curly, Larry, Moe, and Shemp." He looked up at DL. "Wanna watch a movie with me?"

DL grinned. "Anything good playing?"

"Maybe." Matt said. "If not, I buy the pizza."

-

Walking into the security office, Matt felt like he was walking into mission control at NASA. The room was almost entirely dark, save the eerie glow from the various monitors. "Houston, we have eye strain," he said. "These guys must be growing mushrooms."

"Think I should call Narcotics?" DL asked. "Maybe get the dogs in here?" Matt snorted into his coffee. "Watch it," DL said, laughing. "You're wearing my salary in that tie. You ruin it, I have to sell my firstborn to replace it."

"Oh sure, and have Niki beat me to a bloody pulp?" Matt waved a hand. "Let's call it even. I'm too scared of your wife to risk anything else."

"You're not the only one," DL said. "Just, dude, next time you go tie shopping? Call me first. That thing is fugly, man, I'm embarrassed to be seen with you wearing it. You sure the salesman didn't just hose you? Tell you it was all the rage when it was really the lemon he couldn't sell?"

"Hey, don't knock the threads," Matt said, running his hand down the tie. "I gotta look the part and the part calls for frou-frou." He hitched a hip up on the console, putting his coffee down next to it. "I've got good taste."

"No, you've got 'I'm easily fooled' taste," DL said. "This thing's working out for you, though, right?" he asked.

Matt looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. "This thing's working out great. On call twenty-four, seven, but the money's worth it." The old bitterness came back. "And I haven't been called faggot once."

"Good," DL said, his voice quiet. "Matt -- "

"Don't apologize," Matt said. "Don't. There wasn't anything that you could've done. You've got a family to worry about and I'm doing better than I ever did working for the police." He smirked. "Plus, in my business? Being bi makes me _unique_."

"Well, you were always that." DL snickered. "Y'know, Matt, I thought you were nuts when you took this job."

"I am nuts," Matt said, straight-faced. "I may make a fucking fortune, but I'm still nuts. All I need is a French poodle named Fifi or something to make it complete."

"Please," DL held up a hand. "Don't even suggest it. Besides, I'm trying to pay you a compliment here. Next time you offer to get me a job -- "

"You'll tell me to fuck off, same as you've done every other time," Matt said. "You're not cut out for this job, DL. You've got too many principle and principles get in the way of the job. I'm not out for truth, justice, and the American way anymore. The guys I work for care about their money and that's it. You'd get caught up in trying to catch the bad guy and bring him to justice. All I care about is recovering the stolen items and making my commission. Justice can kiss my ass."

"Ouch," DL said.

"Ask a bitter ex-cop his opinion, get way too much information," Matt said. He looked at the technician. "If you're done eavesdropping -- "

"I'm ready to go as soon as you two ladies quit chattin'," the kid agreed.

Matt flicked him. "Shut up and play the damn tape."

The kid hunched over the keyboard, punching in a dizzying sequence. The monitor before them lit up.

Bright white.

"What the hell?" DL stood up with Matt. "Did they cut the feed?"

"Nope, and that's the beautiful part," Matt said, with a grin. "Camera's still running, it just can't see anything. Yeah, this is definitely not our four little friends. They're not smart enough to think of something like this. They didn't even think about the cameras. Nope, whoever planned this is smart. Smart enough and resourceful enough to find out that the cameras in the Impressionists' gallery were infrared."

"Nobody's supposed to know that," the technician said. "The museum's just started switching over. This is the first wing to go completely infrared."

"Really," Matt said. He decided to forgive New York City. Sure, the flight to get here was shit, but he wasn't complaining anymore. Not with the thrill of the chase pumping a through his veins. He looked at DL. "You know, I think I'm going to like this one. It's not often you get an elegant thief anymore. Most of them are commercialized bastards. Maybe a step up from the average smash and grab, but that's it. There's no style anymore, no flash." He grinned. "This guy's got both in spades."

DL laughed. "Right, okay, so if this guy's got flash, explain this one to me." He pointed at a monitor where faint shadows could be seen moving against the light grey. "This is in the same wing, right?"

"Yep," the technician nodded.

"So, why can we still see people?" DL asked. "I mean, they're hard to see, but they're there."

"Temperature didn't rise quite as high," the technician said. "Camera needs a ten degree difference between the ambient temp and body heat to tell the difference between people and walls." He hit a few keys, pulling up a readout. "The temperature hit mid-eighties in that room."

"Which means the room with the Monet hit the nineties," Matt said. "Goddamn it, I really like this guy, DL. I mean, I _really_ like this guy." He laughed and shook his head. "It's just fucking beautiful."

DL laughed. "You planning on catching the guy or proposing?"

"No, done with marriage, thanks," Matt said. "Maybe one night stand, just to get it out of my system." He looked back at the monitor. "Okay, before I drop my pants, run that tape back to this morning."

"What are we looking for?" DL asked.

"Something made the heat hit the nineties in that room," Matt said. "Space heater, maybe. Something small enough that even museum personnel overlooked it." He squinted, looking at the footage. "Okay, roll it back to this morning. Roll it back to, say around opening."

On the screen one or two shapes moved past the camera. Nothing seemed amiss until Matt closed his eyes, running over his earlier walkthrough of the crime scene. "Something's missing," he said. Opening his eyes, he compared the picture in his head to the picture on the screen.

That's when he saw it. "There." He pointed at the bench on the screen. "Check out that bench."

"Uh huh, it's a nice bench." DL said, looking at him.

"Except it's got three legs." Matt said.

"So?" DL shrugged.

"So, when I passed through that room not five minutes ago? That bench had your standard _two_ leg set up." Matt tapped the technician's shoulder. "Run it back to just before the time of the robbery. Close as you can get before it whites out."

"You got it," the technician said. He went to work, typing madly. On the screen, the footage blurred as the computer scanned toward the designated time. After a moment, it stopped and steadied.

"See?" Matt said.

"Son of a bitch," DL said. He pointed at the third leg on the bench. "That wasn't there before."

"Nope." Matt said. "From a distance, it blends in with the other two. Something small and nondescript. Easily overlooked."

"Briefcase maybe?"

"Maybe, it's about that size," Matt said. He grinned again. "Fuck, this guy's good. I like him already."

"Don't like him too much," DL warned. "You may just be interested in that painting, but I want the collar."

"Studded or velvet?" Matt asked.

"I will shoot you," DL said, but laughed anyway.

-

"Fifteen to twenty tons?" DL asked.

"Yes," Ando said, nodding. "If it wished to stop the gate's descent, the titanium in the briefcase would have to absorb approximately fifteen to twenty tons of pressure."

Matt looked up, smirking at DL. "See what I mean?"

"I hate it, but yeah, I do." DL shook his head. "Shit. He plans an entire robbery, sets up four guys, passes on _millions_, and all to get his hands on one painting. That plan could've worked, Matt. If those guys'd had the right helicopter and the guards hadn't figured it out -- "

"Yep, but it didn't work." Matt said. "It didn't work because our boy didn't _want_ it to work. I'd bet my fee on the fact our thief is the one who tipped the guards. He went into this for the Monet and he came out of this with the Monet. He didn't give a damn about the other paintings, they were inconsequential. The money doesn't mean anything to him. He's going to take this painting and he's going to disappear."

"Matt, he stole a painting worth a hundred million," DL said. "You're telling me he won't try and sell?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. Some of the paintings in that pile, DL, they were worth twice the Monet." Matt tilted his head, watching a group of officers move along the hall. In the middle of them was a tall, good looking man. Indian maybe. Very hot. "This isn't about the money, DL. He wanted the Monet because it was a Monet." He gestured. "Who's that?"

"Huh?" DL looked. "Oh, that's Doctor Mohinder Suresh, our eye witness."

Matt looked at him. "The guy who tripped one of them?"

"Yep," DL said. "He's willing to testify."

"You sound surprised." Matt said.

"He's a geek. Started out a geneticist, but turned out to be better at hostile takeovers than splicing DNA." DL leaned on his desk. "Guy's made a killing in the past ten years, buying and selling pharmaceutical companies. He's got a few research companies of his own, but nothing special. He likes the chase."

Matt got up. "Do me a favor, DL?"

"Yeah, sure, what?"

"Do a search on Monet auctions, last ten years or so. I want a list of the names of regular bidders." Matt smiled. "I have a feeling Dr. Suresh's name is going to be at the top of it."


	3. Chapter 3

Admittedly, the visit to the police station was a risk, but a necessary one. Walking into it, Mohinder reminded himself that refusing to cooperate with the police would draw unwanted attention. From this point out, he would be forced to walk a fine line when it came to his involvement in the police investigation. Too much or too little would draw their suspicion and it was only a short hop from 'person of interest' to suspect.

That was a trip Mohinder didn't particularly fancy taking. While he looked quite good in orange, he doubted he could pull off prison chic as a look.

He doubted that one visit to the police station would arouse much suspicion, particularly since he did have to make an identification at any rate.

If he happened to look around and see who was observing the investigation, well, he couldn't be blamed for that, could he?

Mohinder hid a smile behind a cough.

"You want somethin' to drink," a cop asked. "Air conditioning in here's a bitch."

Mohinder nodded. "I would appreciate it, yes, thank you." He looked around. "Things do seem to be bustling."

"Yeah, Mayor's office is flipping out over this one," the cop escorting him said. "Somebody named Linderman donated the painting to the museum and he's not happy."

"Hmm, no, I suppose he wouldn't be," Mohinder agreed. "I can't imagine that his insurance company is jumping for joy either."

"Nope," the cop smirked. "They sent some hotshot investigator. Guy's supposed to be making a killing off recovering the painting. If he recovers it."

"You don't believe that he will?" Mohinder asked.

"Somebody just walked off with a hundred million dollars, Doc," the cop said. "If it were me, I wouldn't stop until I hit the Rio Grande. If this guy's smart, he won't either."

"Point," Mohinder said. "An insurance investigator, hmm?" he mused. "Interesting."

"For you, maybe," the cop said. "For us, it's going to be a pain in the ass. Those guys don't give a damn about making a case. We're just lucky that this one used to be a cop, he might give us a break on it."

If his research was correct, Mohinder doubted that Matthew Parkman would bother. His history with the New York Police Department had ended in a lawsuit and a landslide's worth of bad publicity for the NYPD. He looked around, trying to pick the tall man out of a crowd.

"Thanks for coming down, Dr. Suresh," someone said.

Mohinder started to nod, and then turned to find himself face to face with Matthew Parkman. He smiled. "It's my pleasure," he said. He feigned a shudder. "After this afternoon, it'll be a relief to see them in handcuffs."

Parkman smiled wryly. "Got hairy there for a moment, didn't it?"

"More than," Mohinder said.

"You took quite the risk in tripping him like that," Parkman took hold of his elbow, gently steering him down the hallway. "It's a miracle he didn't take your head off."

"I thought he might," Mohinder chuckled. "I suppose it was ill-advised, but I spend a fair amount of my time in that gallery. It's a bit like having one's home invaded, I expect. Besides, Ted was right there, he handled things masterfully. Just swooped right in and took care of them."

"Swooped in with a little nudge from you, I hear," Parkman said. There was a suggestion of suspicion in his voice, enough to raise Mohinder's concern and make his heart beat faster. "They might've gotten away with it if you hadn't complained to Sprague."

Oh yes, he was suspicious. Mohinder could see it in his eyes. He didn't grin, but he wanted to. Parkman was watching him now, dark eyes locked on his face, and Mohinder felt a little giddy. The adrenaline that the theft itself had sent surging through him came racing back.

Mohinder chuckled, only half feigning it. "I hadn't heard that."

"Yeah, they got pretty close," Parkman said. He stopped them at a door. "Okay, we go in here. You're familiar with the drill, right? One way glass, they can't see you, but you can see them. All that?"

"I've seen the odd episode of Law &amp; Order, yes," Mohinder said. He tipped his head in a nod.

"Good," Parkman said. He opened the door and Mohinder walked in. As soon as the door shut behind him, he grinned broadly.

This was going to be fun.

-

"Matt, check this out."

DL met him at the door to the bullpen, pushing a print-out into his hands. "I'm buying dinner, man," he said. "You were right on the nose."

Pleased, Matt shuffled his way through the pages. "Suresh, Suresh, Suresh…" he grinned and handed the papers back. "Did I call it, or did I call it?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "He's looking at a line-up right now."

"You _talked_ to him?" DL stopped, looking at him. "Matt – "

"Relax, relax," Matt sat down, opening a soda. "I didn't say a word about it. All I did was ask him a few innocent questions and he lied through his teeth." He grinned. "He's our guy, DL. It's him."

"Pity we haven't got a shred of evidence to prove it," DL sighed.

"You looked at our case lately?" Matt said. "The guy's all over it. Talk to Sprague, he'll tell you Suresh ate lunch in that gallery every day. More than that, he sat on the same bench every day. _Our_ bench. I'm having the surveillance footage reviewed, if we're lucky we've got Suresh on tape putting that briefcase under the bench." He put down the can on his desk, holding up his hand. "Okay, so one, we've got him at that bench, two? We've got him tipping the guards off about the robbery and three has him tripping one of the thieves a couple feet away from the gate we found propped open."

"So, you think him tripping the thief was a diversion to get inside?" DL whistled. "Hell of a risk to take, those guys would slit their own mother's throat for a dollar."

"Why not?" Matt shrugged. "He stages a whole robbery as a diversion, I don't think he's going to consider tripping one thief much of a risk; not when he knows every guard in the building converging on the location. He probably got closer to the action than he'd intended, but I'm willing to bet it was just part of the plan."

"Well, it's a nice theory," DL said. "Good luck proving it."

Matt smiled. "I don't need to prove it; I just need to find that painting."

"I want this guy, Matt," DL said. "I want him in a nice, shiny pair of handcuffs. Don't screw that up for me."

"Trying to make lieutenant?" Matt asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Well, the pay raise wouldn't hurt," DL said. "Micah's school – "

"Got that covered," Matt said. "I enjoy being a doting 'uncle' remember?"

"I remember," DL said. "You coming over later? Micah's dying to see you and Niki's bringing dinner home."

"Not tonight," Matt said, sitting up. He smiled. "I think I'm going to go to the museum."

-

Mohinder hated wearing a tuxedo. Standing at Angela Petrelli's side, he resisted the urge to tug at his collar as she spoke. The eyes of the party goers were on him, all watching with interest as Angela praised his bravery.

He bit his cheek. It wouldn't do to burst out into laughter in the midst of Angela's thanking him for apprehending one of the thieves. That seemed to be his biggest danger at the moment. If he started laughing, Mohinder suspected he might never stop.

The self-involvement of the people before him knew no bounds. On cue, they all applauded his donation of the painting, beaming brightly at him. It would have been a charming moment, if he wasn't entirely sure each and every one was wishing him ill at the same time. All of them were kicking themselves that they hadn't thought of it. Mohinder suspected more than a few would steal a painting themselves to have the opportunity to be standing here, listening to Angela extol the virtue of their generosity.

Mohinder was only too happy to see the speech end with a second round of applause from the crowd. He slipped into their midst, moving quickly toward the exit. There were a few handshakes and well-wishers along the way, but not many. Most were only too happy to ignore him. Despite his wealth, he wasn't one of them and they never missed an opportunity to subtly remind him.

The irony being, of course, that he'd never wanted to be one of them in the first place.

With a smile, Mohinder kept going toward the door. He was only too happy to leave them in his wake.

He was reaching into his pocket for his phone when the path to the door was blocked by a broad chest.

"Fancy meeting you here," Matthew Parkman said. "After the robbery, I'd have thought this would be the last place you'd want to come. And yet here you are, giving them a painting."

"Well, they had a ugly blank spot on the wall," Mohinder shrugged dismissively. "It seemed wrong to leave it that way." He smiled. "As for coming here, you know the old saying about getting back on the horse." Mohinder turned, taking two glasses of champagne from a conveniently passing waiter. "Enough about me, however, what brings you by?"

Handing one flute to Matthew, he saluted him with the other. "Before you answer, I just realized that we were never introduced. Forgive my lapse." Mohinder didn't snicker as he said it and thought that an accomplishment.

"You were distracted," Matthew said. "By the way, I'm not a police officer. I'm in the insurance business." The smile on his face as he spoke told Mohinder he wasn't fooled for a minute.

Mohinder's heart beat just a little faster and he felt his face heat. He swallowed, nodding. "I should have known that," he said. "No one on a policeman's salary could possibly afford a suit like that. I'm quite sure their commissioner couldn't possibly afford it."

"Probably not," Matthew smiled into his champage.

"So, insurance," Mohinder said. "Exactly what do you do for them?"

"I recover things."

Delicately put. Mohinder gave him credit for that. "Ah, like the painting."

"Mmhmm," Matthew nodded. "What, you thought they'd just cut them a check and have done with it? We're talking a hundred million dollars, Dr. Suresh. Zurich never parts with money they don't have to and that's a lot to pry loose."

"You do have a point," Mohinder agreed. "So, what happens if you don't recover the painting?"

"I will," Matthew said. "But, on the remote chance that I didn't? I'd have to bring them someone's head." He chuckled. "Actually, they'll be wanting the head even if I _do_ recover it."

"Oh, really?" Mohinder stepped closer. The warmth of Parkman's body pressed up against his slightly. "Do you have a particular head in mind?"

Matthew smiled, leaning in to murmur, "Yours," into Mohinder's ear.

Closing his eyes, Mohinder licked his lips. "Really? Perhaps I should have donated a Picasso instead?" He gripped his champagne flute tightly, resisting the urge to grab the man by the lapels.

As Matthew stepped away, Mohinder realized his heart was racing and he was so _very_ hard. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it. "I'm afraid, Mr. Parkman, you have the wrong man."

Matthew smirked, his gaze dropping to Mohinder's pants. "No, I don't think I do. I have to admit, Dr. Suresh, you're an impressive man. It's been a long time since I met a man I could say that of." He slowly dragged his gaze back to Mohinder's face, letting it wander the length of him before it did.

The look was non-too-subtle and Mohinder fought to maintain his composure as he said, "Why Mr. Parkman, are you trying to proposition me?"

Matthew grinned. "Do you want me to?"

Mohinder took a fortifying sip of champagne. "It certainly wouldn't go astray." He smiled, regaining control. "Though this would not seem the appropriate place to do so."

"Do you have a better place in mind?" Matthew raised a brow.

"I do, as a matter of fact." Mohinder nodded. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night and see it for yourself. After all, if you're trying to imply I had something to do with the theft of the painting, I deserve a chance to defend my honor." He finished his champagne and put the glass down on a nearby table. "How about I pick you up at four? There's a stop I'd like to make."

Matthew shook his head, chuckling. "You're an arrogant man, Mohinder Suresh."

"Mm, at times," Mohinder said. "Perhaps we should make it four-thirty. Give your friends in blue time to get surveillance in place." He turned to go, stopped by the touch of Matthew's hand on his arm.

"You don't know where I live," he said.

"Really, Matthew," Mohinder chided. "As if I didn't know." With a smile, he freed his arm. "Good evening, Mr. Parkman."

"I wasn't implying," Matthew called after him.

-

"You're ignoring me," Bennet said.

"I always ignore you," Mohinder replied.

"Yes, but now you're ignoring me with a smile on your face," Bennet leaned forward, interest in his eyes. "What's his name and how much did he screw you for?"

Mohinder smiled. "Not a penny."

"You mean, not a penny _yet_," Bennet said. "Are you planning on sleeping with him?"

Relaxing back into the sofa, Mohinder let his smile widen. "I do hope so."

-

"Open the fucking door, Matt!"

Toweling his hair, Matt shuffled to the door of his apartment and opened it. "Good morning to you too, sunshine," he said.

DL barreled past him. "I should shoot you," he said.

"Oh please," Matt snorted. "Because I talked to the man?"

"_TALKED_?" DL stopped. "You fucking _groped_ him." He grabbed the towel from him, waving it as he gestured. "When the hell are you going to decorate this place? That museum has a homier feel."

Matt looked around at his spartan surroundings. "It was a decorator," he said. "I don't spend enough time here to worry about it."

"Start," DL said. "All that living in Europe's fried what braincells you had left. What the hell were you thinking, Matt? Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm you've stirred up? The investigation --"

"Is finally moving somewhere!" Matt ducked into the kitchen. "He did it, DL. There's no doubting it now. You should have _seen_ him. When I confronted him, he practically blew his wad right then and there."

"I did see him," DL said. "We had guys at the party, there are surveillance photos."

"Get a transcript?" Matt asked. "I'd like to revisit a couple things he said. I'm not sure I'm remembering them right."

"Fuck you," DL said. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"What I _get_," Matt said, "is that painting. I was wrong about one thing, DL. Suresh is as hot for the chase as he was the fucking painting. He knew I was coming here before I did. The man looked me up, DL. He knows as much about me as I do him, maybe more.

"This isn't about just stealing a painting," he said. "This is about stealing a painting from _me_."

"Ahh," DL nodded. "So that's what this is. Your pride's on the line."

Matt poured himself a glass of orange juice, remembering the way Mohinder had pressed his body against him. "Something like that," he said. "I know what I'm doing, DL."

"Yeah, well, when you're doing him, try not to fuck over my investigation." DL stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Matt swallowed his juice in a gulp. "Wouldn't dream of it."

-

Starting off a date by picking someone's pocket. Matt suspected it was probably terrible for his karma, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. The warrant DL had served on Suresh had, shockingly, turned up nothing.

Not that they'd had a chance to look. Matt smirked as he recalled the look of frustration on DL's face. One of the top criminal lawyers in the country just happens to be having brunch at your suspect's house when you serve a search warrant?

Matt almost believed he'd tipped Mohinder off and he _knew_ he hadn't.

"You seem amused by something," Suresh said. He shifted, the rich leather giving no protest as he turned. His leg pressed against Matt's, deliberately no doubt, and Matt bit his cheek. He was not going to get a hard on in the backseat of a thief's limousine. He was _not_.

Okay, maybe a little.

"Care to tell me what it is?" Suresh asked. His fingers traced Matt's knee. Matt's cock lodged a protest as it really wanted those fingers to run a little higher. "Or is it police business and very hush-hush?"

"I'm being felt up by a suspect," Matt said. He grinned lazily. "You think that's not funny enough?" He worked the keys into his own pocket, hoping Suresh didn't notice.

"Only if I'm doing it wrong," Suresh said, leaning closer. "Which I'm quite sure I'm not."

"Dr. Suresh -- "

"Mohinder."

Matt grinned again. "_Mohinder_, you're a thief. I'm supposed to be bringing your head to my employers on a platter. They've even requested I shove an apple in your mouth."

Mohinder brought that mouth closer to his. "I can think of better things."

"I should slug you for that," Matt said.

"You would," Mohinder said, "but you're enjoying it too much and if you slug me, I'll stop."

Matt licked his lips. "This is a _really_ bad idea."

"Most of the good ones are," Mohinder said, kissing him. He pressed a hand down onto Matt's cock, rubbing it through the material of his pants.

Matt grunted, rocking his hips upward. This was the worst of all bad ideas. The absolute baddest of the bad. He'd screwed with the heads of targets before, but _this_? Mohinder's hand - god, it was too easy to think of that way - curled around him and moved. The fabric slid against him and Matt made a noise, a strangled, pleasured thing that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

He grabbed for Mohinder, pushing his hands into those tight, dark curls and holding on. Mohinder slid across him, digging his hands into the seat behind Matt's head as he rocked down.

God, this was _such_ a bad idea. DL was going to throw him in the East River for this one. He deserved to be thrown into the East River for this one. Getting groped by a suspect? One thing. _Dry humping_ the suspect?

The car slid to a stop and Mohinder pulled back. "We're here," he said. He moved off of Matt, sitting down almost primly to wait for his driver to open the door. "You'll enjoy this, I think."

"Just as soon as I remember how to think, sure," Matt scratched the back of his neck.

Mohinder smiled. "Oh, please don't, it's so much more fun this way."

-

Getting out of the car, Matt took a steadying breath of cool, fall air. It braced him, giving him the focus he needed.

When he passed the keys to one of the agency's people, it was damn near flawless.

-

"The museum?"

Mohinder looked at him, amused by the look on Matthew's face "I wanted to check on my painting. I thought you might enjoy the visit."

Matthew's expression wasn't exactly enthusiastic. "Not particularly. I'm not a big art lover."

"For a man who spends his time pursuing art thieves, you don't seem to enjoy it all that much," Mohinder said. He gently gripped Matthew's arms and guided him across the room to stand before the painting he'd donated. "Don't you ever stop and appreciate the things you protect?"

"I appreciate them when I get my check," Matthew said. "You'd be surprised what a few million can make you enjoy."

"No, you _analyze_ them," Mohinder chided, stepping closer. He pressed himself against Matthew's broad back, his hands sliding down to his hips. He bumped forward, teasingly, and heard the sharp hiss of Matthew's breathing. Good. He pushed the image of Matthew on his knees, naked and gleaming, to the back of his mind for later perusal. "Just look at them, Matthew, _feel_ them. Take in the brush strokes, don't just scrutinize them. Let the soul of it reach out to yours."

"Are we talking about painting or a porno?" Matthew asked, his voice rough. The naked lust Mohinder heard made him hard all over again.

"Ah, but that's the secret, dear Matthew," Mohinder purred. "Fine art _is_ pornography." His lips nipped at the shell of Matthew's ear as he spoke. "It should elicit the same sensations, the same thrill of the forbidden, that pornography does. True art gives you a peek into a world we're not supposed to see. To view a painting properly is to be a voyeur, peering into the forbidden depths of an artist's soul."

Matthew turned, looking at him. "First the car, now here?" he grinned, looking down at Mohinder's mouth. "You always chase what you can't have, Doctor Suresh?"

"Occasionally," Mohinder said. "A man should know the taste of failure so he never wishes to taste it again." He reached up, brushing one finger along Matthew's lower lip. "These days, I prefer to chase that which I can have, but not easily." He smiled, almost gentle. "If there's no work involved, it wasn't worth it in the first place."

"I bet you say that to all the guys," Matthew said, a small smile curving his lips.

Mohinder imagined them wrapped around his cock. "Only the ones in search of my head."

-

They were leaving the restaurant when someone stumbled into Matt. He caught the guy, shooting an annoyed look at Mohinder as the smell of alcohol hit them both. "Watch it, buddy," he said. "You could hurt someone."

The drunk's response was an incoherent groan and Matt felt Mohinder's keys drop into his pocket.

"Close one," he muttered, sotto voce.

"You have _no_ idea," the 'drunk' said and continued on.

Matt shook his head. "So, where too next?"

"Home," Mohinder said. "Yours. It's nearly midnight." He held out a hand and Matt took it, stepping closer. "If I don't have you home by midnight, your nice detective friend will shoot me."

Matt pressed Mohinder back into the car, grinning when the thief rubbed against his hip. "He'd have to shoot through you."

"Right," Mohinder said, arching his neck. Matt skimmed his lips along its perfect line and slipped Mohinder's keys back into his pocket. "You've not gotten your ten percent recovery fee yet."

"I never said it was ten percent," Matt murmured.

"But it is," Mohinder said, his hands on Matt's belt. They toyed there, teasing him, and Matt caught himself wishing. Oh, did he _wish_. If he closed his eyes, he could see those dark fingers working on his belt, pulling it free of its loops. They'd take their time on his zipper, he knew that. Sliding it down until he was fighting to get free.

And when they finally wrapped around his cock...

"God," he breathed. "You are killing me, Suresh."

Mohinder kissed him, flicking his tongue against Matt's lip. "Only a little," he said, his body a promise. He opened his mouth beneath Matt's in blatant invitation. Matt didn't refuse him.

He pushed him down into the car, his hands on Mohinder's shoulders. For a moment, he hesitated at waist level and Mohinder looked up through dark lashes. "Here, Matthew?" he teased, fingers stroking him through his pants. "With your friends watching?"

Matt smirked. "You wish," he said, seeing that very wish shining in Mohinder's eyes. "Have me in front of everyone, stake your claim, is that what's going on here?"

"If you want," Mohinder said.

Matt got into the car, letting the driver close the door behind him. He lunged across the open space, pressing Mohinder up against the other door. He kissed him fiercely, mouth plundering his. "What I want," he said, speaking into the kiss, "you'll never understand."

Mohinder squirmed beneath him, hips rocking up into Matt's. The delicious friction sent warm tendrils of lust through Matt's body and he thrust downward in response. "Don't be so sure," Mohinder said. "That's the point, Matthew," he smiled. "That's always been the point."


	4. Chapter 4

Matt took the coffee from the street vendor and smiled. "Thanks." He turned away, looking across the way at Mohinder Suresh's house.

"You played your cards right, you could've gotten in without the keys," Eden said. She twirled the key ring holding the copied keys, grinning at him. "He might've even cooked breakfast."

He slanted a look at her. "Keep that up and I'm not sharing," he held hers above her head.

She snatched for it, glaring when he pulled it out of her reach. "Give me the coffee and nobody gets hurt," she warned.

Laughing, Matt passed it to her. "Enough with the Suresh jokes, okay? Bad enough I've got Sylar screaming for his head, I don't need you at me about the other one."

Eden snickered into her cup. "Good one," she said. "And don't worry about the boss; you know he gets twitchy if he goes a month or two without someone being served up on a platter. Andre has it covered. You know nobody scares the Haitian."

"He hates when you call him that," Matt said.

"Does not," she argued. "He thinks it makes him sound mysterious." She stepped from one foot to the other. "Are you sure it's October, I'm _freezing_."

"Halloween next week," Matt said. "Yeah, I'm sure." He perked up. "Hey, he's leaving," he pointed at the figure of Mohinder Suresh hurrying down the steps. "Okay, guys, any second now. Just wait for him to get around the corner."

"You sure he's going to be gone long enough."

A niggling suspicion gnawed at Matt, but he said nothing and nodded. "Yeah, he'll be gone long enough. His company's sponsoring a charity race on the river, he's got a sailboat running in it and he's not going to miss that." He grinned wryly. "Competitive streak a mile long."

"Well, you would know," Eden agreed.

Matt waited another minute then nodded. "Okay, let's go."

They started across the busy street together. As they went, weaving their way through traffic, they were joined by the rest of Matt's staff. Some dressed as joggers, others emerging from alleys and alcoves, a few more hopping out of the back of a nondescript van.

Despite their care, Matt couldn't escape the suspicion that Mohinder knew exactly what was happening. He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and looked at Eden. "You're sure you can crack the system?"

"I can crack it," she said. "They haven't made a security system yet that I can't crack."

"Uh huh," Matt said. "Well, here goes nothing." With Eden at his side and his team behind him, he jogged up the steps and slid the key into the lock. He didn't think it was impossible that Mohinder'd been carrying a fake set.

"You had to say that," Eden said, muttering beneath her breath.

"Yeah, I did," he turned the key and they all held their breath until the lock turned. "It's mandatory. Check the manual." Opening the front door, Matt gave Eden a little shove in side. "Okay, kiddo, work your magic. We've onl ygot -- "

"I know, I know," she said, cutting him off. Plugging her gear in, she turned. "Somebody get me a count going. If I can't crack this thing, we're going to need to make ourselves scarce."

"You'll crack it," Matt said. When she looked at him, he smiled. "If you don't, it's your head I feed to the boss."

She stuck out her tongue, focusing her gaze on the small screen in her hands. After a moment, she looked up. "Almost there, only a few more numbers."

Matt glanced at his watch, counting off the seconds. "How many's he got, anyway?"

"Ten at least," Eden said, shaking her head. "_Nobody_ has ten."

"Nobody who isn't hoarding a stolen painting worth a million dollars anyway," Matt said. It was here. It _had_ to be here. "C'mon, Eden, ticky, ticky."

"I'm going as fast as I can," she snapped. "What's the count?"

"Fifteen seconds," Matt said. "Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten -- "

"Got it!" she said, whirling to face him. "Ten digit security pin. If that painting _isn't_ here -- "

"Don't," Matt said. "This guy's smart. It could be here, but I'm not counting any chickens just yet." He closed the door. "Okay, people, if that painting is here we're going to find it. Turn the place inside out," he paused, then grinned. "Just make sure you put everything back exactly the way you found it."

They dispersed and Matt looked at Eden. "Cross your fingers."

She grinned. "Eyes, fingers, and toes."

"Forget the eyes," he said. "Wouldn't want you to miss that painting."

"If it's here," she said.

"If it's here."

Eden shrugged. "If it's not, just invite yourself over for drinks and fuck him through the floor. Then, while he's still delirious from pleasure, ask him to tell you where it is."

"Oh yeah," Matt said with a roll of his eyes. "That should work like a charm." He turned to go upstairs.

"You're totally picturing it aren't you?"

"In High Definition," he agreed.

"That's my boy," she said.

-

They found the painting in the study. All the way back to the station, Matt stared at it with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"This was too easy," he said.

"Says you," Eden said, looking at him. "Ten. Digit. Pin. Remember that part, Matt? Ten. Digit. Pin." She turned back. "That wasn't easy."

"But finding the painting was," Matt said. He looked at the painting again, running his fingers over the swirls and feeling the brush strokes. "This was too easy, Eden. Security system aside, Suresh isn't this sloppy."

"He's arrogant," she said. "Arrogant and overconfident. Guys like that always get caught."

"Right," Matt said. He shook his head. "This was too easy."

-

He walked into the precinct to the applause of the officers. Matt ignored it, gripping the painting in his hands tighter. The closer he got to the office and the waiting experts, the less certain he was.

DL emerged from the break room, coffee cups in hand. "Did we get it?" he asked, gesturing at the painting. He grinned. "Seriously?"

"Seriously? I have no idea," Matt said. "We _may_ have it, but to be honest? I doubt it." He nodded at the office. "My guys in there?"

DL nodded. "They got here a few minutes ago. Pretty sure Mrs. Petrelli set a couple speed records getting here, but they're in there." He held up the cups. "I'm bringing them coffee."

"Did you spit in it?" Matt asked, grinning at him.

DL looked offended, then winked. "No, but I wanted to."

Matt tipped his head at the painting. "Don't worry about it, this is going to be way better than spit."

"You really don't think this is it?"

"Think about everything Suresh has pulled off so far," Matt raised an eyebrow. "Now ask me that question again."

DL sighed, shaking his head. "I hate you. I thought we had this wrapped."

"I told you," Eden said, catching up with them. "Fuck him through the floor, after that? He'll tell you anything." She smiled at DL and waved. "Hi."

"Who's she?" DL asked.

"A thief," Matt said.

"Reformed!" Eden poked him. "Watch who you're calling a thief in the _police_ station, Parkman." She leaned past him. "Was a cat burglar, got hired by his company to crack safes and alarm systems. Better pay offs and less cops on my ass."

"Win-win," DL said.

"Working well so far," she said and opened the door for Matt.

"Mrs. Petrelli, Mr. Nakamura," Matt said, recognizing the young man immediately.

Angela Petrelli came to her feet at the sight of the painting. "Is that it?"

"It _looks_ like it," Matt said. "Frankly, I'm not sure."

"Which is why you have me," Hiro Nakamura said, whisking the painting out of his hands. "Give me a moment, Mrs. Petrelli, and you will know if it is your Monet or not." Producing his tools, the young man bent over the painting to commence his examination.

Matt turned away, taking one of the cups of coffee. Mrs. Petrelli seemed to have forgotten it anyway.

"So, this begs the question," Eden asked in a murmur. "Do you _want_ it to be the painting?"

He looked at her and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"You don't know because you're enjoying the chase, or you don't know because you really don't want Suresh to be a thief?" Eden rested a hand on his arm. "Matt?"

"I'm not ready to answer that," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Well?"

Hiro turned to face him. He frowned. "There is a ghost image."

"Painting beneath a painting?" Matt asked. "Monet reused his canvases, that's good news, right?" It was _supposed_ to be good news. The sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach said he wasn't happy about it.

Hiro shook his head. "Not exactly." He held out the tool he'd been using. "See for yourself."

Matt took it and leaned over the painting. He found his own face looking back at him. His own face on a body that was _definitely_ not his. A body that was definitely not his pressed against a body that was definitely not Mohinder Suresh, but had Mohinder's face.

"Son of a bitch," he said. "I'm going to _kill_ him." Dropping everything, much to Nakamura's protests, he stormed out of the room.

Wherever the fuck Mohinder Suresh was, he was a dead man.

-

"So, you think he's found it yet?" Peter asked as Mohinder led him onto the dance floor. Around them couples filled the dance floor, pressing together as the band began to play.

"The painting or the painting beneath it?" Mohinder asked. He rested a hand at the small of Peter's back, tugging him closer. He grinned to himself, seeing more than one man throw an envious look his way.

Peter gave him a look. "The painting beneath it, obviously." He nodded up at the clock. "If Parkman hasn't found the painting by now, he's totally not living up to his rep."

Mohinder thought back to the feeling of Matthew's body pressing down into his. "Oh, trust me," he smiled. "He does that and then some." He stopped dancing, looking over Peter's shoulder. "He's found it."

"Yeah?" Peter looked.

Matthew Parkman stood a few feet away in a tux, glaring at Mohinder. "I found it," he said. He was furious, quite obviously so, and Mohinder loved it.

"I think you two have a few things to talk about, so I'm going to leave you to it." Peter said. He kissed Mohinder's cheek. "Adam's probably looking for me anyway." He was a few steps away before he pointed at Mohinder. "Play nice."

"Never," Mohinder said.

"Where the fuck is the painting?" Matt asked.

Mohinder smiled. "You didn't think I'd make it that easy, did you?" He held out his hand. "You aren't invited, technically, but no one's going to complain." He let his gaze travel over Matt's body. "The way you're wearing that suit, I'm the envy of the room."

Matt took his hand, yanking him forward into his arms. "You're fucking with me," he said, angry. "That's not what this is about."

"I thought I made myself quite clear last night," Mohinder said. He slid his hand down Matt's pants, curling his fingers around the half-hard cock he found there. "In fact, I'm sure I did. This is _exactly_ what this is about."

"You expect me to believe you stole a hundred million dollar painting just to get me into bed?" Matt snorted. "Please."

"No," Mohinder squeezed, then stroked the velvet hardness beneath his fingers. "I just like Monet." He leaned in, brushing a kiss across Matt's lips. "The fact that they sent you to retrieve it was a quite unexpected bonus." He nipped Matt's lower lip. "You can't tell me you aren't enjoying yourself, Matthew." Again he squeezed. "I know better than that."

He pulled his hand from Matt's pants and stepped backward, grinning. "You're loving this, Matthew. You didn't want it to end. I know you didn't," he said. "If you did, your detective friend would be here and not me." He backed toward the door. "Catch me if you can, Matthew Parkman."

He'd barely set foot outside, before Matt caught up to him. Mohinder slammed into the brick wall with a breathless laugh. "Is that your answer?" he asked, letting Matt turn him around.

"Nope," Matt said. He curled one hand around the back of Mohinder's neck. The other unzipped his pants and pushed inside his boxers, "This is." He kissed Mohinder then, tongue thrusting into his mouth as Matt's hand squeezed his cock.

Mohinder grabbed blindly for him, his fingers scrambling for purchase in Matt's short hair. He caught hold and held on, hips rocking desperately into Matt's hand.

"This what you want, Mohinder?" Matt asked, breaking the kiss. His voice was harsh in Mohinder's ear, his breath hot against his neck. "You want me to fuck you?" he demanded. "Is that it?" He squeezed again and Mohinder cried out. Pleasure burned its way along his spine, racing through his body and stealing rational thought. "Maybe I should do it here, huh? Against the wall where everyone can see you begging for it."

Matt bit his neck, tongue soothing the spot. Mohinder went weak in the knees. "_Please_," he whispered. "Just -- "

"Just what?" Matt asked. "Do it?" he laughed. "I don't think so. We can't make it that easy on you." He pulled away, leaving Mohinder breathless against the wall with his cock hanging out of his pants. "Not after today."

Mohinder swallowed, trying to calm his racing pulse. "Matthew -- "

Matt held up a hand. His eyes were dark with lust and anger. Each warring for control with the other. "No, Mohinder. You don't get to win this one." He turned to go.

"Come home with me," Mohinder said. He tucked himself away and zipped up. He closed his eyes. "Please."

"Why?" Matt asked. When Mohinder opened his eyes, he was still facing away from him. "Why should I?"

"Because you want to," Mohinder said. He went to him, pressing against his back. He thrust into Matt, rubbing his hard cock against Matt's ass. "Because for once in your life you want to take something and damn the consequences. For once in your life, you actually want to _live_ it."

He grinned when Matt turned, grabbing him. "God, I hate you," Matt said.

Mohinder smirked. "Come on, Matthew, live a little."

 

-

The door slammed shut behind Mohinder, his body pressed up against it as one of Matt's hands fumbled for the lock. The other hand was yanking Mohinder's belt through its loops. "The alarm," Mohinder protested, pushing at Matt's chest. "If I don't --"

"Fuck," Matt growled against his neck. "Get a fucking shorter code, will you?" He stepped back, leaving Mohinder bereft. "It's damn inconvenient!"

Mohinder didn't argue that one. He stumbled to the keypad, putting in the code. Matt was behind him before he was done, his pants dropping to the floor in a rustle of fabric. The cool air of the foyer was both relief and torture to his aching cock. Matt had refused to lay a hand on him the whole way over, but had watched him instead. Dark eyes that seemed able to look through Mohinder, strip him bare with a glance.

If Matt didn't fuck him soon, or if he didn't fuck Matt, Mohinder thought he might die of the wanting.

"I could fuck you right here," Matt said. His mouth brushed the back of Mohinder's neck, sucking the skin there. Mohinder shivered almost violently, his fingers hitting the wrong keys.

"Fuck," Mohinder said, thumping a fist against the wall. He started again, trying to ignore the fingers now tracing the curve of his ass. "Stop that."

Matt laughed. "No."

Mohinder fumbled the code a second time. He cursed in the language of his birth. "If the police come -- "

"They'll have fun searching your house again," Matt said. Mohinder heard a zipper and the sound of more clothing behing shed. Matt's pants. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath as he licked his lips. "Something wrong, Mohinder?" Matt asked.

His words were as innocent as original sin, curling around Mohinder with the promise of sore muscles and spent energy. "Bastard," Mohinder said.

"Mmm, nope, Mom and Dad were unhappily married when I came into this world," Matt said. He pulled Mohinder's hips back, bringing his ass flush against Matt's cock.

Mohinder grunted, squirming.

"The code, Mohinder," Matt warned, kissing the back of his neck. "Don't forget the code."

"Forget my own fucking name more like," Mohinder said. He licked his lips again, trying the code for the third time. This time, he got it right and the machine beeped approvingly.

"Awww," Matt said. "No audience. Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"I have a few suggestions, should you wish to hear them." Mohinder turned, letting Matt press him into the wall. Their cocks bump together, the friction not nearly enough. "Do you?"

"Mm, dangerous question," Matt kissed him and reached between them. Fingers teased the line of Mohinder's cock, making him whimper and then making him beg.

Mohinder thought Matthew's lips could make him promise anything, ask for anything, babble nonsense at the heavens until he was hoarse. He pressed into him, sliding hands over the white dress shirt Matthew still wore. He tugged at it, numb fingers fighting buttons until the shirt slid away and joind his pants on the floor.

Naked in the dim light of the hallway, Matthew Parkman was worth everything. Every penny and every moment Mohinder had put into the theft of the Monet and a thousand more just like it. "My god," Mohinder said, running his hands over him.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Please."

"No," Mohinder said, kissing his chest. "_Please_." He ran hands down Matt's chest, brushing the places he promised himself that he'd kiss. There wasn't time now, no time for exploration, or loving. Fire, heat, passion, and death, that was tonight.

He vowed to himself there would be a later. Many laters. The prize of this little endeavor had ceased to be the Monet the moment that he had stolen it.

This was something else entirely now.

He slid his hands behind Matt's neck, lacing his fingers together and pushing downward. It was gentle, but firm enough that Matt didn't resist. He let Mohinder kiss him the way he deserved to be kissed. It was half-apology, half-promise, and all something no one dared put a name to.

After the moment, Matt broke the kiss and looked at him. "What was that?"

Mohinder smiled. "Ask me later," he murmured. He brushed fingers over Matt's lips. "Much, much later, Matthew."

Matt caught his hand in his. Suspecting he knew what was coming, Mohinder closed his eyes and waited. Warm, wet heat closed around his fingers, the roughness of Matt's tongue sliding over them.

"God," Mohinder breathed.

Matt chuckled and Mohinder felt the vibrations through his fingers. Mohinder withdrew his fingers, sliding them down Matt's chest. He then followed the line of them with his lips.

"Fuck me," he said between kisses. "Right here."

"No," Matt said. He pulled Mohinder against him, turning them toward the stairs. "I have a better idea." He curled a hand around Mohinder's cock, giving it a quick stroke. "Like it?"

Mohinder went to his knees, the cold marble hard and unyielding against them. "Is this what you thought of?" he asked. "When you searched here today?"

"Nope," Matt said. His voice was distant, echoing from across the room.

Mohinder stared straight ahead, refusing to look back. "Then what? What did you think about?"

"A lot of things," Matt said, his voice growing stronger as he returned. A gentle hand traced the line of Mohinder's spine, then a mouth replaced it. Matt's tongue slid over his skin, working its way downward as a cool, slick finger pushed its way into him.

Mohinder dropped his head, breathing out. "Tell me," he said. He sensed Matthew's reluctance to do so, wondered what thoughts could be so important.

"This place is so huge," Matt said. "You ever feel like a ghost?" He added a second finger, working them. Mohinder moaned, rocking back into them as they stretched and rubbed. "I don't know how you live here."

Mohinder arched his head, feeling Matt's lips brush his shoulder. "I don't," he said. "I just sleep here."

"Where do you live?" Matt asked.

"Nowhere at all," Mohinder said. He bit his lip when Matt replaced fingers with his cock. It slid into him, slow at first, then steady as Matt gained confidence.

"That's the first honest thing you've said to me," Matt said. He thrust forward, fucking Mohinder slowly. "Isn't it?"

Taking hold of his own cock, Mohinder stroked it until Matt's fingers batted his hand away. "No," he said. "I've never lied to you, Matthew. Not once." He turned, looking at Matt. "You don't want to believe me," he said, "but you know I'm telling you the truth."

Matt thrust forward, his eyes locked on Mohinder's. "I want to believe you," he said. "I just know I can't."

"And why not?" Mohinder asked. He closed his eyes as Matt's fingers squeezed him, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock. "_Matthew_."

"It's not in your nature," Matt said and thrust into him again. "It never will be."

"You're wrong," Mohinder said. "And I'm going to enjoy proving it."

Matt laughed. "Like hell," he said. His answer was caustic, but Mohinder heard the hope beneath it.

"I will," he said, and smiled when Matthew came. "I will," he repeated. The rhythm of Matt's hand stuttered, collapsed, and took Mohinder with it. He slumped forward onto the messy stairs, and pressed his cheek into the cool of the step above him.

"My cleaning lady is going to kill me for this," he said and Matthew burst into laughter.

-

They went to bed after that. Matt got to see the bedroom he'd avoided, but barely. Shadows and moonlight offered little of a view, but it didn't matter. The bed was big enough and when Mohinder invited him into it, he forgot about the rest.

Just for a little while.

-

Matt was gone when Mohinder woke up. "No matter," he said with a stretch and a smile. His body was as sore and as satisfied as he'd thought. Pleased, Mohinder slumped bonelessly back into bed.

"There's always later," he said.

-

Matt brought DL breakfast. Coffee and his favorite hot sandwich with an envelope on top. "So, just how pissed are the brass about yesterday?"

"Furious," DL said. He grinned. "I can handle it. It's all on you anyway. Expect a lecture from the lieutenant. He thinks you need a refresher course since you forgot the part where breaking and entering. Not to mention stealing."

"Ahh," Matt sat down. "Is it stealing when you're reclaiming something that was stolen in the first place?"

"But it wasn't stolen in the first place," DL leaned forward. "It was a forgery of a Monet painted over a pretty damn explicit painting of you and Suresh." He grinned. "Niki wants to see it, by the way."

"You told your _wife_?" Matt hissed.

"Hey, if I didn't, someone else would." DL sat back. "It's all over the station."

"Fuck," Matt pinched his nose. "Open the damn envelope. If we keep talking about this, I'm going to shoot somebody."

"You're not supposed to be carrying," DL warned, then shrugged. "Also not supposed to be fucking suspects, but since you broke that one, what's a few more?"

"I -- "

"You can't lie to me, Matt," DL said. "All I'm saying is he better be fucking worth it."

Matt groaned. "Best sex of my life."

"Haven't had a lot, huh?" DL opened the envelope. "Negatives?"

"Of the original Monet," Matt said. "Before an insurance company indemnifies a painting, they remove the painting from the frame and photograph the borders. Outside of that, the borders are never seen. Not at auction and not when the painting is on display. That way, if a painting's stolen and a forgery surfaces, the borders won't match. Easiest way to rule out a fake."

"So, if the forgery has matching borders, then we know the forger's seen the original." DL nodded. "Sweet." He waved the negatives. "We'll get the forensics guys to compare these to the forgery and see what we come up with."

"Yep," Matt got up. "I need coffee."

"You okay with this?" DL asked. "If the borders match -- "

"Then Mohinder's fucked," Matt nodded. "I know."


	5. Chapter 5

Bennet looked at him. Sitting on the couch, Mohinder looked back. It was an effort to keep his face impassive as the silence stretched out between them, but keep it he did. He refused to give Bennet the satisfaction.

"You've fallen in love," Bennet said. He looked down at the notepad perched on his knee. "With the man the insurance company sent to track you down."

"No," Mohinder said, his voice cool. "He was sent by Zurich to recover the painting. I have absolutely no value to him beyond that."

"It's a painting worth a hundred million, Mohinder," Bennet smirked. "They want your balls on a platter. Probably tied up with a teeny little red bow. After that, they'll want your head. Both of them."

"I'm well aware of that," Mohinder said.

"Good, because I'd hate for you to misunderstand this," Bennet said. He removed his glasses and set them on his notepad, then put both on the table by his chair. This done, he looked at Mohinder and started to laugh.

"Would that be your professional opinion?" Mohinder asked. "Or would you like to consult a fellow physician?"

Bennet shook his head, wiping at a tear. "Peter Pan's finally decided to grow up." He chuckled. "Mohinder, you just made my professional career. You steal a hundred million dollar painting, fall in love with the man chasing you, and _now_ you decide to have a crisis of conscience?"

"Well, it seemed to be the most opportune time," Mohinder said, his irritation bleeding into his words.

"Of course it did," Bennet said. "It would." He reached for his glasses again. "You've finally found yourself a worthy adversary and partner. Naturally, as it is you, that man is charged with your destruction. Does he return these feelings?"

Mohinder shifted position on the couch, feeling the protest of muscles sore from the previous night's activities. "Certainly."

"You're sure?"

"As much as anyone can be," he said.

"Well then, that settles it," Bennet said. "This can only end badly."

Mohinder looked at him. "Everything ends badly, Noah, the trick is making it end badly for them and not you."

-

Matt got into his car, fumbling for his keys. He knew it wasn't a mistake. Giving DL the photographs had been his only option. It was standard procedure in the art world, someone would have wondered why he hadn't.

But he still felt guilty. Wasn't that just the ultimate kick in the teeth? _He_ felt guilty for doing his fucking job.

"I am going to fucking kill him," he growled.

"Well, first, I thought we might have lunch," Mohinder said. "Homicide on an empty stomach is always a bad plan. Like swimming on a full stomach, it's just ill-considered."

Looking in his rearview mirror, Matt found himself looking at a smiling Mohinder. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Mohinder made a face. It might have been a pout. Matt didn't want to look too closely. "Well, you ran out on breakfast. I thought lunch might be a good way to repay me."

"They're going to match the borders of the forgery to the painting, aren't they?" Matt asked. "They're going to connect them back to you."

"Drive, Matthew," Mohinder said. "This is not a conversation that I wish to have in front of several hundred police officers."

"No, I guess you wouldn't." Matt said. Starting the car, he pulled out of the parking spot and merged into traffic. "They're going to tie the forgery to the original. They're going to know for sure it's you."

"Perhaps," Mohinder said. "It doesn't matter."

Matt slammed on the breaks. "It doesn't matter?" he yelled. "It doesn't _matter_? They're going to send you to prison, Mohinder! You are going to go to jail and you're going to go to jail for a very long time."

"Drive, Matthew."

"That's all you've got to say about it?" Matt asked, his voice a harsh demand. Fury radiated through him and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Drive?"

"Actually, I have a great deal to say on it," Mohinder said. "But if you don't keep driving, the police will certainly be called. We're in the middle of traffic."

A car horn blared behind him and Matt groaned. "Do you always have to be so fucking calm?"

"Yes," Mohinder said. "I enjoy winning. Keeping a clear head has almost always been crucial." He leaned forward, giving Matt a wry grin. "As you say, I'm currently flirting with jail time. If I want to avoid that, then I think remaining calm would be crucial."

Matt turned off the street into an alley. Shutting off the engine, he twisted in his seat. "What do you want from me?"

Mohinder smiled. "Nothing but the pleasure of your company."

"Oh, for -- "

"I am serious, Matthew," Mohinder said. "As I am sure you're beginning to suspect, I won't be staying in town much longer. Things are growing rather uncomfortable here for me. You said it yourself, I have avoiding prison to consider, and that means leaving."

"So, you're going to take the painting and run, and you expect me to what? Go with you?" Matt laughed in disbelief. "Just drop my life and go on the run? Me, you, and Monet?"

"No," Mohinder shook his head. "I'll be returning the painting. It was never about keeping the Monet, Matthew." He smiled. "I'd always intended on returning it."

"It was the thrill of stealing it?"

Mohinder's smile widened. "It was the thrill of having it. For a moment I possessed it, it was mine to do with as I pleased. That moment will be mine forever. I don't need the painting to maintain it."

He reached for Matt, his fingers brushing against his cheek. "When I get on that plane, the only thing I want with me is you. Just you, Matthew."

"You're out of your mind," Matt told him.

He wasn't surprised when Mohinder laughed. "Isn't that what love truly is, Matthew? Insanity?" He sat back. "I will return the painting." He smiled. "In fact, I'll return it tomorrow at noon. You can even invite your detective friend to watch."

Mohinder opened the door. Before he got out, he leaned forward and grabbed Matt by the collar. His mouth on Matt's was hard and desperate. Not a kiss so much as a plea.

Matt watched him go and wished he knew how to answer it.

-

"You look like a man with a problem," Niki said.

Slumped in the corner booth, Matt looked up at her. "Gee, y'think?"

She smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek and then sat down across from him. "Apparently, I'm one of the few people around here who does." She looked over, waving at the waitress. "Coffee?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Matt asked.

Niki rested her forearms on the table, palms pressed flat against the chipped surface. "Matt, please." She shook her head. "You're sitting in a coffee shop, mooning over someone you love because people you hate are paying you to screw him over. My husband is sitting at a desk downtown, trying to catch a thief he really doesn't care about because the same people are on the phone pestering the mayor. Neither one of you really gives a shit about those people, but you're still killing yourselves to do what they want."

She reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "You want my totally solicited opinion?"

"Well, I did call and ask," Matt nodded.

"Good," she smiled cheerfully and sat back. "Tell them to go fuck themselves, grab your boytoy and run away somewhere that clothing is very, very optional. If that gets boring, adopt a couple kids, and become the gay Brangelina."

"Hey Nik, don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel." Matt grinned.

"It's what you asked me to do," she said. "Seriously, Matt, who gives a damn what a bunch of billionaires want anyway? They're the real thieves in all of this. They didn't send you here to defend truth, justice, and the American way. They sent you hear so they could be cheap bastards and avoid a hundred million dollar payout."

Niki sat back, letting the waitress put a cup of coffee before her. She waited for the waitress to leave and then continued, "If it weren't for the ten million they're going to pay you for bringing it back, you'd be saying the same thing."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I probably would be."

"So say it anyway," Niki said, adding liberal amounts of sugar to her coffee. "Seriously, Matt, you've made a fortune off their backs already. Suresh is rolling in money. There's nothing holding you two here."

"There's you, DL, and Micah." Matt said. "Nik, you're the closet thing to family I've got."

"We can visit," Niki said. She smiled pertly. "Move to a country with no extradition treaty with the US. We can visit all we want and there won't be a damn thing DL can do about arresting you."

"You'd make a freakishly good criminal mastermind," Matt said.

"Mmhmm," Niki nodded. "It's why you love me."

Matt shook his head. "No, that's not it. I've got a whole list of reasons for that."

"But it is on there," Niki said.

Matt grinned. "It's on there."

"Wherever you end up, Matt?" Niki smiled. "Buy me something shiny."

"I didn't say I was going to do it," Matt said. He didn't know what he was going to do. He needed to see Mohinder again. Needed to look him in the eye. He didn't know if he could find an answer there or not, but he needed to try.

"No, you didn't," Niki said, sipping her coffee. "Order some food, will you? I'm _starving_."

Matt looked at her. "Just how shiny?"

She looked over the rim of her cup. Her eyes filled with laughter. "_Very_ sparkly. So sparkly I'll need a bodyguard just to step outside my bedroom door."

Matt nodded. "Gotcha."

"Mm, no," Niki put down her mug. "Go get him. Be happy for once in your life, Matt. It's not a crime to be happy, no matter what you think."

He looked at her. "There are days I wonder."

-

Still conflicted, Matt walked into the precinct and promptly found himself headed back out again. It took a moment to connect his sudden aboutface with the hand on his arm, but when he did, he looked over to find DL dragging him along. "Hello to you too," he said. "Care to tell me where we're going?"

"Prison," DL answered.

"Forget to pay those parking tickets again?" Matt asked. "Or did you find out I download songs on the internet? Goddamn my Fall Out Boy addiction."

DL looked at him. "C'mon man, if you're listening to --"

"Do not be knocking my Wentz, man," Matt said. "Seriously, what is it?"

"The borders matched," DL said. He looked grave. "I know you didn't want them too, but they matched."

"I knew when I gave you those borders they would," Matt said. "Remember, I'm the one who thought it was Suresh in the beginning." He ignored the flare of panic threatening to choke off his breathing. "Why are we going to prison, DL? Better yet, who are we going to talk to?"

"Not only did our people match the borders, but one of them thought they recognized the forger." DL started off again. "Guy by the name of Raines."

Matt hurried to catch up. "Claude Raines?"

"You know the guy?" DL asked.

"Art's a small world, DL, if they're a forger and they're good? I know them." Matt said. "You have your regular faces, I have mine." He dug in his heels, grabbing onto DL's arm. "And by the way? Raines is out. He cut a deal early last year and got out."

"Then why didn't we get notified that he's out?" DL groaned. "This is your doing, isn't it? Man, I ought to put you through a wall."

"Nah, you do that and you'll never get an invite to the beach house." Matt grinned. "We had to keep it quiet, DL. Raines was hooked into some pretty scary people, back in the day, and he'd like to avoid them now that he's out."

"Witness protection?"

"Something like that," Matt nodded. He sucked in a breath. "I know where he is, but you breathe a word of it and we'll have to kill you." He said.

DL snickered then stopped. "Wait, you _are_ kidding, right?"

Matt headed for the door. "Maybe."

-

They were halfway to the car when DL asked the question Matt had been dreading. "You sure you're okay with all of this?"

"Talking to Claude?" Matt asked, being deliberately obtuse. "God, no. The man's a pain in the ass. I'd rather have a root canal." He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. "But, since you're making me do it, I'll just make myself feel better by bitching you out."

"That's not what I meant, Matt," DL said. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Matt said. "Doesn't mean I want to answer it. In fact, talking to Claude would be a picnic in comparison." He only wished that was a lie. "Seriously, DL, don't ask me that question. Just don't."

"You know I have to, man," DL said. "I have to know if you're going to be a problem because you're -- involved."

Matt stopped, turning to look at him. "You mean because I'm fucking the guy?"

DL flinched, but nodded. "Yeah, because you're fucking the guy. Is it going to be a problem, Matt?" He looked at Matt steadily. "Do _we_ have a problem?"

"We don't," Matt said. "But here's the thing. My priority is the painting. I don't care if Suresh ever sees the inside of a jail cell. All I care about, all my employers care about, is the recovery of the Monet. They don't care if Suresh never sees a second of jail time as long as they get that painting back." He brandished his car keys like a weapon. "I'll stay out of your way as much as I can, but DL? If I get a shot at that painting, I don't care if I blow your whole case to hell and back. I'm taking it."

He stopped, sucking in a steadying breath. "If that's a problem for you, then yeah, we've got a problem. It's up to you."

DL stared at him, then shook his head. "I'll do the job, Matt, it's what I always do." He surprised Matt with a grin. "Just don't think for a minute I give a shit about this case. If you ask me, anybody willing to pay a hundred million for a piece of canvas is a moron."

Matt snickered. "And know you know why I love my job so much." He started toward the car again. "So, we're good?"

"As good as ever," DL said. "Just tell your boytoy to be careful, okay? Niki and me, we're not putting up with you moping about if he gets himself busted. I don't need to see that." He snatched the keys from Matt's hand. "And I'm driving."

Matt rolled his eyes, hiding his sigh of relief. "Do we really have to talk to Raines?"

"Yes," DL said. "Now shut up and get in the damn car."


	6. Chapter 6

With his hand raised to knock, Matt looked at DL. "Whatever you do, don't let him piss you off. Believe me, he's going to try."

"He's not going to piss me off, Matt," DL said, rolling his eyes. "Not like I haven't interviewed annoying suspects before."

Matt snorted. "I said the same thing. Then I met him. Five minutes after I met him, I wanted to kill him." He knocked, rapping sharply on the door. "And I actually _like_ the guy."

The door swung open. "Good to know, Matthew!" The lanky man said with a near-manic grin. "So, what brings you to my door? Boyfriend kick you out?" He looked. "Oh, no. You brought him with you." He composed his face. "I'm sorry lads, but I'm really not into threesomes. Always did have a problem with sharing."

"Funny," Matt said. "With all the forgeries you've done, you'd think you wouldn't."

"Oh, I don't mind sharing when it's someone else's stuff that I'm sharing," Claude said, shrugging. He leaned himself against the door frame. "So, here about that Monet are you?"

Matt pushed him backward, walking inside. "Yup." He looked around the apartment. Claude was living well. He couldn't afford half this stuff on the salary the company paid him. The rug beneath his feet looked imported, the fabrics hanging from the windows were all fine, and he didn't want to think about the bric-a-brac. "We recovered a forgery," he said. Sitting down, he put his feet on the coffee table and grinned smugly at Claude. "Don't suppose you've been dabbling in impressionism lately, have you?"

"I don't dabble," Claude said, indignant. "And watch that!" he shoved Matt's feet to the floor. "That's _expensive_, Matthew, and while you can afford to replace it, we both know you're too cheap to do it."

"Not too cheap," Matt smirked. "I just don't care."

Wandering the room, DL stopped to pick a vase up. "You know, Claude, man, I am so betting they don't pay you enough to afford this."

"We don't," Matt agreed, watching Claude flinch as DL casually flipped the vase over. "He's not that useful." He relaxed into the sofa. He'd never seen someone turn that shade of purple before. "Mostly, we just pay him to stay off the radar."

"Will you put that down!" Claude squawked. "You're getting fingerprints all over it!" He rushed over to pluck the vase from DL's hands. "And I'm strictly legitimate now," he said over his shoulder. "Couldn't be anything else if I tried." This, he said to DL with an annoyed frown. "Not with his lot breathing down my neck."

"True," Matt shifted on the couch, getting a better look at them. "The company owns this building. Almost everyone on this floor is a company employee."

"And they're watching the ones that aren't." Claude grumbled. "Can't step out for the morning paper without some nit writing it down." He looked at Matt. "I didn't paint any forgeries as they can tell you. What they can also tell you is that I've been quite busy being a fine, up-standing citizen. I even pay my taxes."

"You do a mean tap dance routine too," DL said. He reached for the vase again, his fingers wiggling with menace. Claude glared, wrapping a protective hand around the vase.

"Hands off," he warned.

"Then quit dancing and start talking."

"Talking about _what_?" Claude asked.

"Nice try, Claude, but that innocent face? Not going to work." Matt got up. "You broke the law five minutes out of the womb." He pulled out the picture of the forgery, handing it to Claude. "You may not have painted this," he said, keeping a close eye on Claude's expression, "but you know damn well who did."

"Matt keeps saying art's a small world," DL agreed. "Stands to reason you'd recognize who did it."

"Well, unfortunately for you, I've been holed up in this little gilded cage of mine for some time." Claude thrust the picture back at Matt. "I'm somewhat out of the loop. Sorry."

Matt nodded. "Right," he said, tucking the picture back into his coat. "Have a nice day then." He turned and headed for the door.

"Better luck next time, Matthew!" Claude called after him.

-

"What the hell was that?" DL asked in the elevator.

"What was what?" Matt glanced at his watch. Catching himself wondering what Mohinder was doing, he scowled and shoved his hand into his pocket. He knew what Mohinder was doing. If the man was smart, and he was, he was getting ready to flee the country.

He certainly wasn't working out a scheme on how to put the Monet back. Matt refused to believe that one for a minute.

"Raines was lying," DL said. "You _knew_ he was lying, and you still walked out of there."

"Yep," Matt rocked on his heels. "I had what I wanted." He looked over, grinning. "Did you see the look on his face when he saw the photograph?"

DL frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"It was pride," Matt said. "He knows who did that painting. Not only that, I'm willing to bet my commission that he _taught_ whoever did that painting. Whoever our forger is? They're a new player in the business and they don't have a record yet."

"They haven't been caught yet." DL said. "Shit."

"Yup," Matt nodded. "Should make it easy. Claude Raines didn't let a whole lot of people close. Suspect pool should be pretty narrow."

-

"Your suspect list? One person on it." DL waved a folder at Matt. "You aren't going to believe it."

Matt sat down, putting his feet up. "Peter Petrelli."

"Fuck, I hate you," DL slapped the folder down. "How'd you do that?"

Smirking, Matt shrugged. "Process of elimination. We need someone that we can connect back to Suresh that Claude associated with back in the day. That's a pretty small list. Claude Raines likes the social elite. He actually got his start forging masterpieces for high society types. They'd hang the forgery up for everyone to look at and lock the real deal away."

"Thereby pissing off any thief that tried to get their hands on it," DL grinned. "I like it."

"It was a pretty decent living to hear Claude tell it." Matt said. "Problem was he could make more working _for_ the thieves, so he crossed over. Before he did that, however, he was in tight with Peter's father. Old man Petrelli died a few years back, but Claude still keeps in touch with his sons. Nathan's his lawyer, but the other one? Peter fancies himself a budding artist. He's actually pretty good."

"Not that bad a dancer, either," DL said. "We caught surveillance of him at that ball with Suresh the other night."

Matt nodded. "I saw him."

"Right," DL looked at him. "You realize what this means, right?"

Matt nodded. "It means we've got a date at the museum tomorrow."

-

"You're fidgeting," Bennet said. "Stop that."

Mohinder stilled at Bennet's reproving, over-the-glasses look, annoyed. "I am not," he said. He folded his arms and realized how it appeared. "I'm...nervous."

"Nooooo," Bennet said. "Really?" He flicked the top of his pen. "What'd you do this time and how did your boyfriend take it?"

"He's not my -- " Mohinder stopped, frowning. The juvenile protest was beneath him. He also couldn't ignore the thrill the comment sent through him. "He wouldn't agree with your assessment of our relationship."

"Or he would, but he just couldn't admit it," Bennet smiled. "I suspect the denial is strong with this one."

"Not so much as you'd think," Mohinder sighed. "This is not how I had intended for this to go," he said. He closed his eyes, picturing Matt's face. That face looked at him with disappointment and he opened his eyes again, banishing the image. "Not at all."

"Expected him to fall madly in lust with you, huh?" Bennet asked. "Just drop everything and rush off to some country with no tan lines or pesky extradition treaties?" He snorted. "Bullshit. If Parkman had fallen into line, you would've dropped him like a bad habit and disappeared days ago. You're _enjoying this_, Mohinder, and you're enjoying it more than you want to admit. Maybe your boyfriend isn't the one with the denial problems, after all. You're desperate for his approval, aren't you?"

"I am not!" Mohinder said, perhaps a touch more emphatically than he'd intended. "I'm not. I -- " he sighed. "I seem to be falling in love with the man."

"Fallen," Bennet corrected.

"Fine," Mohinder said. "I seem to have _fallen_ in love with the man."

"And thus, surrendered control of the situation." Bennet smiled. "For the first time in a very long time, you aren't in control. Whatever you have planned, Matt Parkman decides the outcome of it."

"Essentially, yes." Mohinder sighed. "The ball is entirely in Matthew's court. Should he not make the decision I'm hoping -- all of this will be for naught."

"And you're terrified," Bennet said.

"Yes," Mohinder said. "I am."

Bennet looked at him. "Good luck."

-

"Laverne and Shirley, back again," the technician said. "Whatever did I do to deserve you two?"

Matt looked over the kid's head at DL. "You can shoot him if you want," he said. "I know people."

"Don't tempt me," DL said. He turned a chair and straddled it. "I might want to take you up on that." He leaned on the chair's back. "Any sign of Suresh?"

The technician shook his head. "Nothing. We've got every camera in the place watching for him with facial recognition software. So far, he's a ghost."

Matt sat down, turning one of the monitors toward him. "And he's going to stay that way," he said, flicking through camera after camera. "Suresh wouldn't have warned me ahead of time without a contingency plan."

DL moved his chair closer. "I thought -- " he looked behind him at the technician. The kid looked away, whistling. DL turned back, speaking more softly. "I thought Suresh gave you that whole speech about you coming with him."

"He did," Matt said, "but you think if I turn him down, he's going to let himself get arrested, you're crazy. He wants me to come with him, but if I don't, he's still going. The man likes his freedom too damn much to ever let himself go to jail. I promise you, DL, he's got this thing covered. He's going to get in, and he's going to get out, and we're never going to get close."

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "He just wants us to see this happen."

"You mean, he wants _you_ to see this happen," DL said. "He wants you to know he's for real." He grinned. "It'd be romantic if half the NYPD weren't staking the place out."

"Oh yeah, just wait until next Valentine's Day," Matt said. "This is totally going to raise the bar for you, my friend. The pressure is officially on."

DL looked at him. Matt knew it was coming and, knowing there was nothing that could stop it, resigned himself to having _that_ conversation. "Niki told me what she said at the diner."

Matt looked away, focusing on the monitor in front of him. "And?" Ookay, so he was going to have _that_ conversation, but no one said that it had to be happy about it.

DL smiled. "I make it a practice to never argue with my wife." He shrugged. "I'm a cop, I'm not supposed to be advising you to break the law. Aiding and a-betting..."

"Someone who claims to be putting it back?" Matt asked.

"Well, he hasn't done that yet," DL said.

"Hey guys, I got something," the technician called out. "Movement on the floor."

Leaning back, Matt looked at him. "Which camera?"

"Hang on," the technician leaned over the computer's keyboard. "I'll bring it up on your screen." The camera view on Matt's screen flickered and changed. "There on the lower right hand corner, do you see it?"

"See what?" Matt asked. "I don't -- " he stopped, seeing a familiar figure walk past the camera. "Oh, yeah, got him!" he said with a grin. "God, what the hell is he wearing?"

"A bowler hat," DL said. "Your boyfriend's got shitty taste."

"I don't know," Matt replied. "He fucked me, didn't he?"

"I go there and Niki will break my neck," DL said. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Beats me," Matt said. "But it should be interesting." He leaned closer to the screen, heart pounding as he watched Mohinder threading his way through the crowd. He stopped on a stairhead and set down the briefcase he'd been carrying.

"Seriously, man, your boyfriend is weird," DL said.

"No," Matt said with a grin. "He's having fun." He tilted his head, watching Mohinder turn and put down the briefcase he was carrying. That done, he stood up and vanished around a corner. At the last second before he ducked out of sight, Mohinder glanced over his shoulder and Matt blinked.

"Son of a bitch," he said in a low mutter.

"What?" DL inched closer. "What is it?"

"That's not Mohinder," Matt pointed at another monitor where another the bowler-wearing man was picking up the briefcase. "Not even close."

"Looks like him to me," DL said.

"Look closer," Matt grinned wider. "He _is_ having fun." Around them pandemonium began to erupt as more and more men, all bearing a striking resemblance to Mohinder Suresh, poured through the museum.

"I'll tell you this, Matt, you sure know how to pick 'em," DL shook his head. "This guy is going out of his way to prove you right."

Matt nodded. "Looks like it." If he were being honest with DL, he would have said he didn't know what to make of it. Mohinder Suresh was a man of grand gesture. The files were full of examples of his grandiose nature and Matt didn't relish the idea of being another one.

That was the worst part. The niggling doubt that wouldn't let go.

Was Mohinder playing him?

"Come on," he said, standing suddenly. "I want to see this for myself."

DL was already on his feet. "You can watch," he said. "Me, I've got to bust some clones and hope one of them's your boyfriend."

"You know, you can feel free to stop calling him that anytime you like." Matt said, leading him into the hall at a run.

"I could," DL agreed, "but that would suck all the fun out of life. Some of my best amusement comes from driving you crazy."

"You mean your only," Matt said.

"Details, details," DL dismissed. "Come on, man, get the lead out. All those expensive gym memberships you own and that's the fastest you can do?"

"Hardly," Matt rolled his eyes. "I'm just going easy on you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but relax, it's entirely out of self-preservation. I crush your ego and Niki will crush _me_." Matt slapped him on the back. "Your wife is fucking scary, man."

"Yeah," DL grinned. "And we like it that way."

Matt snickered, excitement quickening his step. "You are a sick, and twisted man, DL Hawkins. I've got to admire that."

-

 

Once they emerged from the back corridors of the museum, the true extent of Mohinder's little scheme became abundantly clear. There weren't two or three identically dressed men, there were a twenty or thirty of them.

"_Fuck_!" DL snapped. "Which one?"

Matt shook his head, his gaze scanning the crowd. "I have no clue," he said. It was the truth. A grin of pure relief spread across his face. Mohinder was doing it. He really was doing it. Matt still had no idea just _why_ Mohinder was doing it, he was beginning to suspect he never would, but the fact remained.

Mohinder was putting the painting back.

"Any idea what we're going to do?" DL asked. "Other than just start arresting them?" He intercepted a Mohinder-look-alike headed for the door, hooking an arm through his. "Hang on, man, we need to talk."

Matt leaned past the look-a-like and spread his hands. "Nope. Your plan sounds good." He pushed through the crowd, heading away from DL.

"HEY!" DL hollered after him. "Where the fuck are you going?"

Matt stopped, stretching up to see him over the crowd. "The painting, where else?" He shrugged.

With suspect in hand, DL laughed and nodded. "Happy hunting!"

-

Matt was halfway to the Impressionists' Gallery when the alarms went off. "Mohinder," he said. He looked back, watching the crowds begin to rush for the door. It was utter insanity as people pushed and shoved, panicking over something they hadn't even seen.

He shook his head, annoyed.

Of course, that was when the sprinklers went off and the fire barriers began to slide into place over the paintings.

He turned in the direction of his destination again and frowned. "What are you doing, Mohinder?" he asked, breaking into a run and nearly knocking down another look-a-like in the process.

-

The gallery was empty when Matt skidded to a stop in the doorway. He caught a hand on the door frame, preventing himself from slipping in the puddles of water. "What the fuck?" he said as he picked his way across the water-logged floor.

Behind him, the museum's security staff ran into the room. Some weren't as co-ordinated as Matt, their fingers missing the door and the stability of the wall. He heard the slap-thud-splashes of their falls, but spared them no moment of sympathy.

Instead, he and more than a few of the others, stared at the wall before them with shocked surprise.

"Where's the Pizarro?" Ted asked.

Matt hadn't even noticed him. He looked back, embarrassed. "It was never here," he said. He gestured at the painting. "He returned it practically right after he stole it." Stepping forward, Matt brushed his fingers across the paint smeared down the wall. "Water-based," he said and held up the evidence.

He looked past Ted at DL. "He had this planned all along." Standing there with the Monet behind him, three spent smoke bombs at his feet, and a grin on his face, Matt spread his hands. "He had this planned all along."

DL shook his head in amazement. "You know, partner, I gotta agree with you. I like this guy."

Matt snickered. "Where is he?"

"Beats the shit out of me," DL said. "We corralled every guy we could find in this damn outfit," he nodded at one of the bowler-wearing men being held by the uniformed officers. "He wasn't any of them. He must've ducked out in the chaos."

"Check the trash bins," Matt said. "Ten bucks says we find his hat and coat in one."

"Easiest ten bucks you ever made," DL said. He looked at him. "Let's go." They left the museum officials to the examination of the returned Monet and slipped out of the gallery into the hall. "I'm guessing, since the painting is back -- "

"I'm done here," Matt nodded.

"Still gonna get your ten million?"

"Oh yeah," Matt grinned. "Contract doesn't specify _how_ the painting gets recovered." He had a feeling that Mohinder had known that when he put it back. "Save for my report, that's it for me."

"Same here," DL said.

"You're not going to go chasing after Mohinder?" Matt asked.

"Well, I will if they tell me to," DL shrugged. "But as of right now? The painting's back, nobody got hurt, and the museum will get some fantastic publicity out of this while the police look like heroes. Everybody wins. I have a feeling nobody upstairs is going to want to mess with that."

"God, no," Matt smirked. "That way lies potential negative publicity. Commissioner doesn't want that."

They shared a grin and then fell silent. At least until DL looked at Matt. "So, you going to go looking?"

"For -- "

DL raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy Hoffa, of course. Who the fuck do you think, Matt? Suresh. Are you going to go after him or not?"

Needing a moment, Matt took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. He turned away and found himself staring at a trash can. When he looked inside, he found the coat and bowler hat Mohinder had been wearing.

Atop the hat rested a scrap of paper with his own address on it.

"Actually," he said, "I think he's coming after me."

-

 

-

Long since having made himself comfortable atop Matthew's bed, Mohinder caught himself dozing when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. Startled to full consciousness, he sat up and attempted to regain his composure.

By the time the bedroom door swung open and let light flood into the room, he'd almost succeeded.

Tugging his tie off, Matthew leaned up against the door. Back lit as he was, Mohinder could just make out the tiny smile playing about his lips. "You're the talk of the town," said Matthew.

"The whole town?" Mohinder smirked. "Well, that's impressive. I've never quite managed that before."

"Trust me, stealing a Monet? That did it," Matthew said.

Mohinder slid off the bed, leaving his coat behind. "That doesn't count," he said. "That wasn't 'me', not officially."

"Really?" Matt's eyebrows slid upward in feigned disbelief. "I thought you weren't in this for the attention."

Mohinder slid his fingertips along the crisp white of Matthew's collar. "Well, that would depend," he said. "Exactly what kind of attention would you be speaking of?" He stepped closer, fitting himself against the length of Matthew. A familiar hardness met him and he grinned. "That kind?"

"Maybe," Matthew said. "You led me on a pretty wild goose chase, you know."

Mohinder nodded, eyes on Matthew's mouth. "That I did."

"You should be sorry," Matthew warned.

"I'm not," Mohinder leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing Matt's. "I am absolutely, in no way, sorry. Not at all." He reached between them, his fingers finding Matt's belt and working on it. "Not when it brought me here," he said.

"When does our plane leave?" Matt asked, his hands settling on Mohinder's hips. They pressed him forward and Mohinder complied, rubbing against his lover.

"We've time," Mohinder said, a deep sense of satisfaction flooding through him.

"Not for what I have in mind," Matt said, eyes gleaming with want.

Mohinder tipped his head back, inviting Matthew's lips to his throat. "Well, in that case, we'd best head for the car," he said, as Matt took him up on said offer. "There is a beach calling our name."

Pulling back, Matt looked at him. "With, or without, tanlines?"

"Without, of course," Mohinder said with genuine offense. "As if we'd ever allow tanlines." He kissed Matthew. "Ever had sex on the beach?"

"Outside of the kind you make in the kitchen?" Matt shook his head. "Nope. Will there be sand in interesting places?"

"Likely," Mohinder said. He pulled open Matthew's pants, working his hand down to wrap around Matt's very interested cock. Matt groaned, resting his head against Mohinder's shoulder as he thrust into Mohinder's hand. "Don't worry, I have a _very_ deep bath. It's quite likely that we'll spend countless hours there getting into all sorts of mischief."

"Mmm, let's leave mischief out of things," Matt said. "Cause if you do this to me again, Mohinder? I'm going to fucking kill you."


End file.
